


The Price of Breathing

by Liravell



Category: Mozart l'Opéra Rock - Mozart/Baguian & Guirao
Genre: Bard - Freeform, Drowning, F/M, Fantasy AU, Rusalka (Water Spirit)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2019-04-23 16:00:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14336013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liravell/pseuds/Liravell
Summary: Mozart is a bard. He knew music all his life,  heard it all around him - in the singing of birds and swooshing of leaves. It was natural that he had chosen the path through the woods instead of a dusty trail. Yet in the forest he will learn a completely different kind of music.First work in my "Fantasy AU" series of drabbles





	The Price of Breathing

The steady rhythm of the walk made him even more tired than he already was. It was an awfully sunny day. The air seemed heavy from the relentless heat and buzz of insects. Mozart was glad that he had chosen the shorter path that led through the woods. The road was more bumpy, more dangerous and widely notorious, yet the trees provided a shadow that he was more than grateful for.

His horse walked slowly by his side, the animal as tired as its owner. Yet as his white shirt was sticking to his back, covered with sweat, his lips were curved in a delicate smile. The air was fresh. He heard birds singing. He felt the heat. He was alive and unbothered by anything. The simple journey made him happy - it occupied his body and left his mind free to wander, to find undiscovered notes and sounds among the trees.

They reached a point where the path opened to reveal a small clearing and a lake, not bigger than a town square in the village he visited a few days ago. Twisted silhouettes of trees bent down, their longest branches skimming over the glittering water. The silver-green grass shone as the wind, absent just a moment ago, brushed it with its cold fingers. Poppies and daisies covered the shore, giving their petals to the water in the only sacrifice they were capable of. The sight of the small meadow tore him out from the rhythmical, dusty reality of the road, like a sweet promise of happiness.

It seemed fascinating. It seemed mystical.

‘You know what, Hyacinth? I’m sure Lord Colloredo wouldn’t be pleased if we, his musician and his horse, showed up covered in mud and sweat. I think it’s time to rest.’ he smoothed the grey pelage of his horse and left the path to head to the lake’s shore.

As Hyacinth started to drink the water from the lake, occasionally taking a break for a few tufts of grass, Mozart tied the reins to one of the nearest branches, resisted taking out his lute and took out a blanket instead. He settled between the giant roots protruding from the ground, with a bundle under his head.

Lying in the sun-flecked shade, Mozart felt as sleep slowly took over his mind, his thoughts getting lost between the green leaves and the quiet hum of insects.

***

He heard a voice. Singing the most beautiful music he had ever heard. The highest notes vibrated in the same frequency as his heart, torn by the beauty. The lower tones roamed his darkest desires. The melody was as natural as breathing, one note evolving into another. Mozart felt like the smooth voice flowed through his body, refreshing his soul like crystal clear water. That delicate symphony was enchanting. Otherworldly and surreal. Like from a dream.

His eyes snapped open with that thought, yet the voice did not disappear. The melody remained unchanged, restraining him in the oneiric state. His eyes searched for a source of the evening aria amongst the silhouettes of dusk. And then he found her.

She was sitting on the shore, her leg in too still water. Her body seemed delicate, ephemeral, her skin white as daisies’ petals or the Moon. Black, wet hair ensnared her naked arms like seaweed clinging to an innocent, tormented body. Drops of dew gathered on her lips. And eyes… Her eyes were the darkest depths of oceans. She sang her lonely serenade while her smooth hands played with the surface of the lake, disturbing the still water with a series of wrinkles.

Mozart stood up as quiet as he could, afraid not to startle the woman. His limbs were numb from the sleepness or the emotions. With every step he cursed the grass for quiet rustling under his feet, moves of birds among the branches, even his own breathing, yet the girl did not or did not want to notice his presence. When he was so close she was within his arms reach, the young woman stretched, rising her smooth, marble-like arms in the air and then fell back on the soft grass in a relaxed manner. She stopped singing but the melody still rang in the air for some time.

When their eyes met she was not surprised. She smiled at the stranger and Mozart couldn’t help but smile back with a shy, abashed grin.

‘It was beautiful.’ His voice was hoarse like he had not spoken for many hours or like something was holding him back from speaking. Still lying on the ground she reached out and took his hand pulling him down. The boy, encouraged by the gesture, fell to his knees. His mind sank in the fevered desire just to be closer to her. Closer. Closer. Closer. Soon he found himself lying beside the evening singer. A flush crept up his face, embarrassed and overwhelmed by her calm and beauty. He tried to say something more. Tell her how magnificent she is. Tell her how he would like to compose music for her. Play for her. Forever. Yet when his mouth opened she sealed them with a kiss. Her cold lips met his. The kiss tasted like stars in the night sky, like the first breath in his life. He felt her watery fingers cupping his cheek. They parted, his breath quick, and she looked at him for a long moment, trying to memorize him or maybe searching for something in his face. Only a moment and then he was showered with kisses. Each an explosion of pleasure. Her fingers, first entangled in his gold hair, traveled down his body. He let out a moan. Every touch felt like a cure to some unknown disease inside of him. Every kiss felt like redemption. Lost in sensations he did not notice they were now standing in the lake, cold water reaching his waist. She cupped his face and with one last kiss dragged him underwater.

The desire disappeared. Soft touches were replaced by the merciless cold of water. The playful sparks in her eyes died. He returned to the cruel reality. He could not move his legs, they were tied with seaweed. He could not breathe, his lungs burned. And she just watched. They were surrounded by dark waters and she just stood still, towering over him, watching as life was slowly leaving his young body. She watched his golden hair floating around like a halo. She watched the small movements of his shirt, inflated by water, as he struggled. She watched his eyes. They interested her before, but now… When she looked at them… That beautiful shine of death, the tears dissolving in the dark. He looked like a young, innocent lover. He looked like an enchanted creature. In a way, he looked like her. He looked like Aloysia Weber. Young, beautiful, innocent. Drowning. Just like her all those years ago. Lured by a promise of love, she died. Lured by a promise of love, his lungs began to fill with water as a final breath, final whisper left his lips.

She raised her lip in irritation. Something inside of her screamed, something that should have died a long time ago. Mercy. Aloysia took revenge on everyone who was near, but this boy... With his golden shine and pure eyes...

Mozart coughed, his knees and palms resting on the ground. Everything inside him burned and hurt. His white shirt was covered with mud and sand, his hair, dark from the water, was sticking to his forehead. Wet, shocked and exhausted, he shivered in the night air. Tears of fear and tears of gratitude ran down his face. Mozart had no idea what just happened. She enchanted him. She drowned him. She let him go. Why? The golden boy did not care. He wanted to run. He wanted to scream. Despite the fear, despite desire, he just fell to the ground. The last thing he noticed before passing out was a broken branch and absence of Hiacynth.


End file.
